Working one day at a time on sobriety, often winning, but sometimes losing.

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I have finally owned up to the fact that I can no longer say that I have 1213 days of sobriety. This has been a tough one for me. Since I quit drinking on 11/30/13, I have taken opiates four times, an addiction I don’t readily own up to. I took them for the same reasons I used to drink, to not feel something that was painful. It is the same behavior as drinking to mask my feelings, I took the pills to make something less of a THING. To make it go away, however briefly.

I have gone back to AA and am giving it 100 percent effort this time around. When I first got sober, I did it online for the first three months, white knuckling it with the WordPress sober community. I then decided to try an AA meeting. I found one where no one asked anything of me. No coffee making, no greeting, no commitment. Also no offers of sponsorship, nor did I asks. I just went one night a week, sat in a chair, said nothing, then went home. Just going through the motions.

I had a sponsor, but she lived in a different state, so we weren’t connected geographically, and were unable to attend meetings together. We weren’t able to get together in person and discuss my new sobriety the way I can with my new sponsor.

My current sponsor is tough, she expects a daily telephone call, and she expects me to show up at meetings, regularly. No half assing it this time. I have been doing that, because there has been a hole in my sobriety. Without the meetings, I was back to white knuckling it, and just going through the motions. I wasn’t drinking, but if given the chance or the opportunity, I would happily gulp down a pain pill.

What I have found by attending meetings for the last three months is that I was missing was the rigorous honesty. When you don’t have to be accountable for your behavior, you give yourself a pass and rationalize away anything. And I have. I have done that four times when I have chosen to take opiates.

I have attended a lot of meetings in the last few months. I have been listening, and I have heard people tell on themselves repeatedly. I kept hearing the phrase rigorous honesty. It has stirred something deep in me, I have not been honest with myself, or within the program, and now it was time to own up to it.

In my mind I had kept my two addictions in separate places, never admitting the pills were as bad as the alcohol. I was sober because I didn’t drink. I kept up my day count. Nothing was going to stop my streak. Somehow, I discounted the pills, they weren’t my REAL addiction, so I kept going after each pill relapse as though nothing happened.

Except this time it was different, I had a new sponsor, I had to tell on self. That is what we do. When I first asked her if I should reset my day count, she said she felt that I was a bit too fragile and new at the program to do that, and we could let it go. But I can’t. The more meetings I go to, the more I realize that I have to reset my sobriety date. As I have relapsed, not once, but four different times. The pills and the alcohol are the same, they are both an addiction and they belong in the same bucket.

This morning I told my sponsor that I felt I needed to reset the date. The continued talk of rigorous honesty was getting to me. I am not being honest, I am a liar. I have not been sober for 1213 days, I have been cheating.

It is time to own up to it. I don’t want to, in fact it makes me cringe and cry. I can’t even think about getting another 30 day, 60 day, 90 day chip, it just makes me so sad. I am told I will feel better once I admit this. It will be a weight off, it will be the beginning, again, this time with rigorous honesty.

Christmas Day of 2015, I received a call from my step-mother. My father was in ICU in Bangor, Maine with pneumonia, can I come please? The next morning, I caught the first ferry off the island, and headed to Maine. Along the way, I stopped at Logan Airport to pick up my brother who had gotten the same call, and had flown in from Saint Louis.

For most people, pneumonia is not a deadly disease. For my father it is. My father is a two time cancer survivor. In case you were ever in doubt, smoking does cause cancer. The cancer first started in his mouth, under his tongue. He had radiation, which killed all his salivary glands, and compromised his jaw bone. In later years, he lost a lot of his teeth. Two years later, the cancer was back, in his lungs. The doctor’s removed the top lobe of his left lung. They caught it early, so he didn’t need any further treatment, and has been cancer free for 20 plus years.

That being said, pneumonia is deadly for a person who has a compromised immune system and has diminished breathing capacity to start with. The doctors also could not identify the strain of pneumonia, so they had no idea how to treat him. My step mother thought he was going to die. Both my brother and I went to Maine.

My brother was also suffering. He had fallen off a ladder and had done something horrific to his neck. He was using the neck hanging traction apparatus, but was in a lot of pain.

When we arrived at my father’s home, my brother said he was in agony. He had taken the last Vicodin that the doctor had prescribed him. I said, “I know that Dad has some pain pills, he never takes them after an operation.” I strapped on my running shoes and made a bee line to their bathroom, lightning speed.

I took a couple of pills out of the bottle and handed them to my brother. I took the 3 bottles I found there, and stashed them in my room.

I was in Maine for a week, most of the time alone. Spending time in the ICU, and spending a lot of time at my father’s house. I popped pills like a mad woman. Every night I would watch TV, have my seltzer, and take a few pain pills. Every morning I would wake up, feel like shit, and tell myself to flush them down the toilet. Yet, every night, I would repeat the previous evening’s cycle.

When it was time to head home, my true addict surfaced. I emptied the bottles and put the pills into a baggie, which I hid in a compartment in my bag. I threw the empty bottles into my handbag. As I headed south, I stopped for a coffee and bagel. Along the way, at a rest area, I took the empty bottles, put them in the bag of trash from the coffee shop and threw them in the trash can at a rest stop along I-95.

I was sneaky for sure. At the time, it all seemed perfectly normal, in hindsight, it looks like what it is, a drug addict, stealing drugs from family members.

After a few days at home, I came clean to my husband. I had flushed the remaining pills down the toilet, and had, once again, determined to get sober from opiates.

I made it a year and a month.Last week I relapsed. My problem was, I didn’t get help. I did what I always do, I stay sober through sheer determination. I am a competitive person, even with myself. This worked until last week.

In December, I had a realization that I can not power through my addictions by myself.I was struggling, mentally. No matter how many miles I ran to clear the noise from my head, it kept coming back. I needed help.I half- assed a few AA meetings in November. In December, I got serious, I got a sponsor, who I speak to every day. I am a work in progress. I am working on rigorous honesty, with myself and my sponsor, who had no idea how deep my opiate addiction was until last week.

This is the first time I have told on myself about this side of my addiction. This has been my dirty little secret that I have not acknowledged to anyone, and most importantly myself.

Now it is out there, it is with my sponsor, and it is with you. Rigorous honesty isn’t always pretty, this is down right ugly, and it has made me completely uncomfortable to share. I was just getting used to calling myself alcoholic, now I need to add addict.

I was lying in bed last night, wishing I had a journal to write in. I have had journals, but I have stopped writing in them because my husband reads them. He reads them even though I have told him, “Hey, this is my journal, it is going to live here on my night table, please don’t read it.” I find this to be a huge invasion of my privacy, among many other things that I am not going to get into today, so I stopped journaling. I moved my current one to the car, which is not a convenient place to find time and put down thoughts. I would suspect writing in a journal while driving is up there in the don’t column along with texting while driving.

Being in recovery, I have discovered that NOT writing down my thoughts has not helped me process the thoughts, or get the thoughts out of my head and put them somewhere else so they no longer make such a racket. The noise keeps me up at night.

I remembered, in my early sobriety I used to blog. I never really enjoyed blogging, I always felt my writing wasn’t good enough, or I wasn’t being insightful, or I wasn’t posting frequently enough, so I shut my blog down. That was about 2 1/2 years ago. I was blogging for the wrong reasons. This blog will now be my journal, somewhere for those pesky, keep me awake at night thoughts to live. Somewhere that the husband won’t find them.

A lot has happened in 2 1/2 years. Of course it has, it has been 2 1/2 years. I am still sober, from alcohol. I have 1,179 days. I have been in AA, then quit AA, and now my road has brought me back to AA. (more on that another day)

I never disclosed in my prior blogs that I also am an opiate addict. I had a botched rotator cuff surgery, and my doctor’s answer to my complaints about getting worse instead of better, was a continuous supply of Vicodin prescriptions. I had the shoulder repaired again, and got more opiates. As time has gone on, there have been various injuries that have required prescriptions for opiates. I have never refused or disclosed my predilection for addiction.

I found that alcohol and opiates were the perfect combination to keep me numb. As long as I had my wine and a pill or two, I was happily high, and nothing bothered me. I could drink and drug and never have to bother with any of the myriad of bothersome, hurtful issues that life consists of.

I had a year of opiate sobriety until two days ago. I found my husbands percocets that he had gotten when he had kidney stones last year. I had previously requested that they be hidden, which they were, (which in itself is pathetic to me, but that is another post) but we are away, and they aren’t hidden well, so I found them.

Then life happened, which it has a habit of doing, so I took 2 percocets. Never one, always 2, 1/2 at a time, spread out over the evening. Naturally, the self loathing was there immediately the following morning.The sick feeling,and the abject sadness at having relapsed after having a year of sobriety with pills.

As I am sitting here, life is coming in fast and furious once again. Things are ramping up to a place where I have no control. Control is my thing, as I believe it is for every addict. I still know where the perocects are, so I am telling you. I am telling anyone who is reading this that I am thinking about taking a percocet to make these feelings go away.

I am also thinking about how shitty I will feel if I do that, so for this moment, I am not going to do it. I am going to finish this post, then go do fold some laundry, and get through the next moment, then the next, until this feeling passes.

And then when my husband gets home, I am going to tell him I found them, and to please hide them again. That is what I am going to do.

I had my very first drinking dream last night. I have read a lot about people having these types of dreams in early sobriety, I never did. I was taken by surprise by it, given that I just celebrated 16 months of sobriety on Monday.

When I awoke this morning, the dream was still very vivid in my mind. As I lay in bed, making sure all my parts were still working, I began to delve into what made me have that dream now. Especially after all this time.

I have a trip to Maine scheduled for the end of the month. It is a celebration for my step mother being elected the state President of a women’s charity group she is involved in. My grandmother was a member, my step mother is a member, and for me to be able to attend her induction, she made me and her daughter members. When I was first asked to attend the state convention where the award would be bestowed, it was four years ago, and I said “of course I will come”. I figured I had four years, a lot could happen in four years, it was easy to say yes without real intentions behind the yes.

It is now four years later, and the convention is upon us. An event that I thought was going to be small, intimate celebration has now blossomed into a full on party.

It is my impression that my step mothers installment as the President for the state of Maine in this charity has become an event.It has become a THING, a rather large thing. The small gathering has blossomed into a semi large family reunion of sorts. My brother, his wife and two children are flying in from Missouri, and my step mothers son is making a special trip from Massachusetts. None of these people will get to see the honor being bestowed, as it is a women’s only group, and you have to be a member. The only people in attendance will be me, and her daughter. The other family members have been invited for a post convention celebration.

My step mother is very excited about this position, and has worked hard to get it. Because she wanted me there, she offered to pay for my airfare and hotel. I picked out my flights, and she booked the hotel. As you can imagine, there was conversation regarding these arrangements, just not full disclosure.

As the celebration got larger, I was asked to include my daughter, who is only a two hour drive from Portland. I was more than happy to do that. She is my heart and soul, and helps keep me grounded. I figured this adventure would create a few trigger moments, and it would be easier with her by my side. Plus, I had the paid for hotel room for her to stay in with me, great plan right?

Wrong. I was informed, yesterday, that my step mother has booked to share a room with her daughter, a woman whom I have not seen in 25+ years, and who is a black out drinker. It was then casually tossed in that she and I will also be sharing a bed, because step mom was sure I wouldn’t mind. I do mind, I really, really mind.

I have been under an extraordinary amount of stress over the last four months. The stress has led me to question my sobriety regularly. I have had far to many white knuckle days for comfort, and feel like I have been distancing myself from both my sponsor, and my meetings. My mothers death has been an emotional challenge, and now we are packing our home and moving. All catalysts to my old way of thinking, drown all discomfort with copious amounts of white wine, it will go away.

I also have a horrible time sleeping, crazy bedtime rituals, and hotel rooms are where I am at my craziest. (I travel with electrical tape for all of the little lights in the room.). I have shared a lot of crazy with my family, but I really don’t feel the need for full disclosure. Suffice it to say there are nights my husband doesn’t even want to be in the same bed, let alone room with me.

Needless to say, this information sent me into a tail spin. I finally hit that wall that had been coming closer and closer. I had a major meltdown. A crying, hyperventilating, rocking back and forth on the floor meltdown. I would say that this has been lurking inside for quite some time, but the room and bed share were the straws that broke the flood gates open.

Once I composed myself, I immediately got on line, and booked my OWN room. Easy fix. Normal people would have just gone and done that without all the neurotic histrionics. Instead I got myself so worked up, that I no longer want to attend, my own room or not.

When my family gets together, every one drinks, it is what we have always done. I don’t do that any more, and I have yet to find my comfort zone with not drinking around my family. Old habits are hard to overcome.

With all of this fresh on my mind, I dreamt that I joined in with the drinking and the partying in Maine. I was at the table having dinner, downing glasses of red wine, one after another, just like the old days.

All of this is disconcerting. I know I need to be sober, but there is still a part of me that doesn’t want to be sober. That girl wants to drink. I hope she isn’t in Maine in May.

I have been attending AA meetings for about a year. I have 15 months and 14 days of sobriety yet I still don’t feel the serenity. I am not happy, joyous and free. Life has been a little rough the past few months, and I have maintained my sobriety throughout, but am I just white knuckling it, or am I truly sober?

I have yet to read the Big Book of Alcoholic Anonymous from cover to cover. My rationalization for this is because it is too dated. When I went to my first meeting, one of the men said to me, get the Big Book and read the first 164 pages. I may have read the first 64 pages, then it went to the bottom of the reading pile.

I still took the book with me when we went away last summer, and to Florida this winter. I did not open it once. It could actually double as a paperweight right now.

Two weeks ago, an interesting “old timer” came to our little home group meeting. This person is intriguing,has very long term sobriety and that sense of serenity surrounds him. I was drawn to him, I needed to find out how he got that and has maintained it for 24 years.

We became Facebook friends, and immediately started using the chat feature to discuss alcoholism, AA, and the Big Book. I outed myself, and told him I have not read it. I got the usual reaction when I tell anyone from AA that I haven’t read the book; WHY NOT?

I knew the only way I would actually pick it up and read it is if I was held culpable. I suggested we do a Big Book discussion group, all two of us.

Yesterday, we got together to discuss Chapter 1. I was explaining to him that I still have not found a Higher Power, nor can I really commit to the concept of a Higher Power, the whole process seems to still illude me. I have moments of YES iI think I have this, but it is not a constant ribbon running through my life. I do not feel it daily.

I then disclosed, that frequently when things get to emotionally painful, my go to thought is : DRINK! Or DRINK + PILLS! That was when he said, maybe you aren’t done drinking yet. Followed by, frequently people need to relapse to really be ready to embrace this program. There was also discussion about putting my sobriety first every day. Do I do that? I don’t know.

All of these months of ups and downs with being sober, and maybe I need to relapse to get this program? How does that make sense? Is relapse a prerequisite for finding serenity and letting a higher power guide my life? Will I find the answers to all of this in the book that I have been using as a paperweight for over a year?